Eight months into her pregnancy, Victoria discovers a medical record hidden in her husband’s study.
Marcus had undergone a vasectomy a year ago.
As the truth sinks in, the baby inside her gives a soft kick—as though asking the question she cannot bear to speak aloud. If Marcus cannot be the father, then how many lies have been hidden inside the hands that once rested so tenderly on her swollen belly?
Outside the door, her husband is laughing with his friends.
She hears them confess that their marriage was never built on love. It was an elaborate act of revenge, designed to punish her for what they believe she did to Marcus’s sister. They joke about who fathered her child. They mock her devotion. And, one revelation at a time, Victoria realizes that Marcus has been drugging her for months—turning his unconscious wife into entertainment for the men he trusted most.
The marriage she once called home was a carefully constructed execution chamber.
The arms she once sought for comfort were the walls of her prison.
At tomorrow night’s welcome party, they plan to place another drugged drink in her hand and finish what they started.
But this time, Victoria will drink it with her eyes wide open.
